Mend
by RelAtivEmistake
Summary: Dreams are such an airy and fickle thing, and when left to sleep long enough, the lines of dreams and realty begin to blur most pleasantly, or so Pitch had thought. It would seem his dreams often liked to taunt him with silly tales of redemption. - Slow burn, character deaths, solipsism, violence. Now M for the coming chapters
1. Awareness

Mend  
Awareness

Silent upon the descent, no sound left he or his friends. Not even the wind dare sing in this place. When was the last time he'd been here, he wondered? Was it before the quartz and onyx had begun to crumble? Perhaps it had been before the iron globe had rolled off of its grand pedestal- or maybe it was when the shadows still permeated the very air of this place. He could not remember.

Lost was he in his exploration of the sunken palace, and he pondered at how the rays sunlight that had broken through warred with the darkness. He dreamt of days long past, of the battle, of himself, and of him. His skin crawled with something- anticipation, apprehension, disgust? He did not know. But he would not have to wonder for much longer, as he closed in upon the location he sought.

The cold greeted Jack as a friend, nipping at his heels as he came to a great door. Perhaps he should go- turn back, this was not his place. But despite his wishes there was a purpose to this task, for he had brought them to the maw of a slumbering beast not to take pride in having set it to sleep, but rather to wake it and raise it to the state it once was. Nonetheless he feared waking it- would it snap at him, he wondered. Tooth tapped upon his shoulder, reminding him to keep moving, and he placed his hands tentatively on the cold handles of the door. He opened it wide, heart beginning to race as the first sound since their descent squealed out. Their cringe was collective and they readied their weapons for the waking of monsters within. But there were none- only the settling of dust and the foul scent of decay met them. The feeling was back, more powerful than before-his skin felt hot, too much so, as he came through the threshold and into what was once an impressive hall. He remembered this place, in a dream he'd gotten many, many years ago- but now, where once there had been a breathtaking visage, sat a large crater with tiles slipping down into the abyss.

He crept up to the edge, Tooth, Aster, Sandy and North beside him. With caution, they stared down to the center of the crater. There lay the subject of their search, or rather the shell of him at least. Covered in a thick layer of old leaves, dirt and other muck that had likely fallen in when the ceiling had collapsed. In fact, the only reason they knew it to be him, was the smattering of black sand all across the crater. However that was the only sign of life, no breath came from the crater, and not even the usually sentient shadows swayed. None of them felt particularly compelled to see if he was alive- would he be strong enough to act, they wondered, and if so would he try to harm them- would he even remember to? But it had to be done, so Jack stepped up and used the wind to sweep himself down to the slumbering spirit below. With a cast of his hands, the leaves and dirt were blown away, and with caution Jack touched the thrumming shadows which shrouded their master protectively. They were wary, slowly fading back. The air left Jack at the sight which greeted him.

He briefly remembered the name of that emotion from earlier not apprehension, but fear.

Most surely Pitch should be dead, must have been- but the very fact that he even laid there was testament to his survival. How long was it since the war? Years, decades? Jack had forgotten the passage of time. Surely after all of the years of being forgotten, Pitch would have been lost to the dead. Instead here he rested, just as Manny had said, yet healing from old wounds. Jack caught himself staring at the Nightmare King, what horrors led to the scars upon him, Jack wondered.

"North," Jack called when at last his breath returned to him. The spirit of wonder looked sick as he peered down.  
"Should we move him?" Jack whispered. They were apprehensive at first, wary of even being near him much less having to carry him. Nonetheless, North and Jack resigned themselves to the task. It felt wrong, the way Pitch's skin felt paper thin. How the bones in his body felt loose, disconnected and broken in places. Jack frowned when North set Pitch down at the lip of the crater. Despite all that was wrong with his body, Pitch lay as if asleep. It was a wonder he'd not woken yet, given the raucous movement he'd endured.

"Pitch, are you ok?" Tooth muttered, crouched near the ground, she turned his head in his hands examining the damage there.

For a long while there was no response and the sun drifted over them as the afternoon began to draw to a close. They had begun to wander and only Jack remained near Pitch. The last rays of light fled the room when Pitch began to stir. He scraped against the ground as he forced himself to move, but his strength failed him, and Pitch's arms gave out beneath him. Jack turned around at the sound and locked eyes with the fallen spirit. The sound he received was positively feral as Pitch lurched forward in rage. Something in his side splintered, and Pitch collapsed once more at the blossoming of pain.

"North!" Jack called, never taking his eyes off Pitch's prone form he moved back, further from the writhing spirit.

With the knowledge that more Guardians were near, Pitch scrambled to get away but the shadows would not bend deeply enough for him to slip through, nor would his legs bear his weight. He tried to stand despite that, and collapsed with a low keening whine. North ran in with Tooth and Aster close behind with worry in their eyes and caution in their movements. They followed Jack's gaze to the smudge of darkness that Pitch had formed around himself, searing gold peered out, the only sign of life from an otherwise black void.  
Pitch made no sound, only watched with calculating eyes as the Guardians searched for what to do. They had not expected Pitch to be alive either, much less active.

He dare not speak; his throat still ached from his curses- why had he woken again? Had his death not been ordained? His mind raced with both questions and agony. He wondered why they had come to his grave- Lair, whatever it was now. His questions racked his mind until at last he could not stand the silence, or the Guardians watching him like a caged animal. He hacked out the filth in his throat, a disgusting conglomeration of dried blood, sand and dust, and spoke.  
"Have you at last come to finish what you started?" His voice was dry and each word scathed his throat like sandpaper; he coughed again and more of the phlegm settled on the floor.

North frowned at this, he looked to the others, and began to move forward. Pitch curled back against the wall even further, his eyes darted between North and the other Guardians in something akin to terror.  
"Why would we come to end you? We are not monsters, Pitch-"North began.

"No, no you lie, they all lie! This is exactly how it always starts!"  
He was tugging at the shadows with increased panic, North stood towering above him for once, he reached down to- to do what? His hand was in his space, so close to touching him. It was too much, far too much. North's hand touched his back and the fallen spirit squealed, a harsh, grating sound. And he tore into the shadows, breaking through the barrier with the remainder of his power and fell through to the void. The cold swallowed him up, bringing alertness to his groggy mind- but at least here he could stand. Thus he paced there, at last in his true domain, where he could walk amongst the darkness without pain or distraction.

No sand dwelled here. But he was not free, as a smarting headache made itself known, and soon he felt himself being dragged back out of the shadows and into the world again when the power to sustain failed him. There he lay upon the chilled ground- who knows where- under a star lit sky. He tried, in futility to call the shadows, but he lacked even the power to lift his hand. He closed his eyes-at least when this nightmare was over he'd be able to rest a bit more. He expected to wake soon, but rather than the hasty whispers that ended his dreams, or the hungered loud whinnies which ended his nightmares there was nothing. Strength failing and yet nothing came to taunt him, or feast on the lingering fears of the unknown?

"Come now, I know you're watching- I know this is but an illusion. Is this not enough?"

Pitch watched, expecting black sands to lurch up around him and for his all too familiar nightmares to pounce from the darkness. He waited, with bated breath but still nothing came, save a creeping suspicion that this was no dream. A renewed sense of panic came to him when he could see through his skin and to the ground, but there was nothing he could do, and he was rapidly growing tired. He had no want to plea, nor hope of mercy. What more could he do, he wondered and his eyes closed. Why would he want to do anything- the sleep was nice, cool as it called to him.

_Rest, yes rest, and come night he would try to regain himself_.

_What was that sound?_

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	2. Stability

Mend  
Stability

The sound was atrocious! North could not resist reaching up to cup his ears. Oh how he felt pity at Pitch's cries, what was causing him such pain? The way Pitch cringed every time he had moved, and how he looked like he had only a thread of control over his body brought sadness to his heart. He'd only hoped to help stabilize Pitch, when he'd touched the other spirit, give him some sort of comfort knowing that he was no longer going to be harmed. But instead of acceptance he'd only caused fear, no wonder many had warned them so vehemently. If just contact had caused such an outburst, how would they ever have any hope of tending to his wounds?

Though he shouldn't have been so surprised, the chaos, he had expected. The scathing remarks, false bravado, and hostility too he had foreseen. But the terror still worried him, and the frantic, instinctual need to escape too caused him fear, surely there was no need for such hysterics. The whirl that Pitch had left behind was vicious, as if the shadows were a distraction for their master as he fled. A triad of nightmares formed of the shadows, they acted as a barrier, blocking off the void that the spirit had escaped through. They warred with anyone that got close and seemed unfazed by each time they were destroyed. They looked steadfast, until they began to shrivel and dim, as if they could no longer be sustained, but by that time Pitch would already have gotten far. When they were gone, the usual tells were not there, where was the sand, where were the whinnies and the chaos?

"Blimey, the sod couldn't even stand and yet he had the strength to tear open a path, and set up shadows to prevent us from following," Aster grumbled, but despite his bellyaching, he was just as concerned as the others. What if they couldn't find him, what would they do then, it wasn't like they could simply wait and look forever- he worried too much. They would find him eventually, but at what cost?

Perhaps going as an entire group was part of the reason for his terror, North wondered. And in hindsight, Pitch's departure made sense. To wake vulnerable and surrounded by enemies was a trying ordeal indeed. Nevertheless, it would have been foolish to approach the spirit alone, as he'd nearly tried to fight Jack, and only the knowledge that he, Sandy, Tooth and Aster were there had likely stayed Pitch's attack. They had not adequately thought of how to transport Pitch, as they'd assumed he'd be dead at worst, unresponsive at best. The more North thought about, the more he realized that the plan was very weak, even if they had managed to capture him, what then? They had no idea how to keep a fear spirit sustained. On top of that, there were no barriers in place to prevent Pitch from opening a path and leaving even if they did catch him and managed to keep him alive.

North sighed, he was hopeful that Pitch would return, but he doubted that greatly. Even if he returned, there were so many parts of the lair that were collapsed or inaccessible that Pitch could hide from them in-  
"Let us go- Pitch will likely not return here."  
The rest of the Guardians looked more than happy to leave, they never seemed quite right whenever Pitch was brought into to the mix. They lingered ahead, not quite eager to go, or hopeful to stay. North dwelled behind, looking at what was once an exotic room, it pained him to see it so decrepit. Jack cried out suddenly, startled by something just outside the cave.

"Jack?" North sped over to the mouth of the cave. Jack and Tooth were speaking frantically in a series of hushed whispers. Tooth hefted something from the ground. It was opaque, lanky, and seemed limp. A dark hand grasped Tooth's shoulder, a weak struggle, but a struggle no less. North looked down over Tooth's shoulder, and frowned at the Nightmare King that she struggled to hold. He did not seem to recognize that he was in his enemies' arms, his eyes were listless and never settled for long.  
"Don't- please, I want to sleep." The spirit leaned his head against Tooth's chest. Delirium in his eyes and words.  
"He was just laying outside of the cave, must have run out of energy to go farther away." Jack muttered.

"Leave me be-"Pitch groaned lowly as Tooth bumped his side when she moved to situate him more comfortably, "Oh hush, you'll be able to sleep once we return to the workshop."

That seemed to quiet Pitch and he settled, albeit reluctantly. His skin paled a bit, and he closed his eyes.  
"This is not good, how do you sustain a nightmare?"  
The confusion was collective and North began to worry. Pitch breathed in deeply, a deep rumble left his chest.  
North understood then, but he dare not hope.  
"Let's take him back; we can tend to him at the workshop." North removed a snow globe from his coat. With the workshop as his destination, he threw the globe upon the ground. He and the others traveled through. They had no place to set Pitch down, but North eventually found a room, somewhere between his office and Jack's guest room. With all of Tooth's distressing, Pitch had nearly returned to his usually soft grey, but it still looked sickly, despite the fear he'd been getting. Pitch seemed unhappy to be removed from Tooth but only struggled minimally when he was jostled too much.  
Tooth shooed the others out and eventually started to tend to Pitch's wounds. She hesitated after removing his clothes to deal with what was underneath. Tooth stopped her work, and peered out the doorway and into the hall. North had just finished imbuing magic to the walls, with luck it would prevent Pitch from trying to escape. The others had left, well except Jack he was just getting ready to make for his room. Tooth called for him, "Jack, before you go, could you help me?"  
"Sure Tooth," the spirit of fun followed her in, but the somber atmosphere quickly sucked away his excitement. Pitch looked so out of place with the heavy bandages over his body, and his clothing half on.  
"I would really appreciate it if you took over from here, I- uh don't want to spy, if you know what I mean."

Jack looked equally uncomfortable, but he nodded. There was no reason not to help. Tooth smiled, gave Jack the rest of her supplies, said her goodbyes and left Jack to his work. Jack sighed loudly when she left, and dumped the supplies onto the table beside the bed. He set to work, hoping to get back to his place as quickly as possible. Pitch groaned as Jack peeled off the rest of his crusty clothes. Jack frowned at the lacerations he saw; it looked like claws had raked through his thighs, looked as if something had nipped at his heels, or bit his skin. It upset his stomach as he cleaned Pitch's wounds, the way he yelped when antiseptic hit him, and how his wounds seemed impossible to clean. He avoided Pitch's smalls; he couldn't bring himself to degrade the Nightmare King any more than he already had.  
He looked so out of place as Jack left, swaddled up to the neck in blankets with sheep on them, but it was far better than how they'd found him.

Jack was hopeful; at least Pitch didn't look like he was going to fade away again.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	3. Eidolon

Mend  
Eidolon

It ached, how his skin seared. Why was it so bright? Pitch kept his eyes closed, but took the time to feel out his surroundings. Everything was soft, a bed, Pitch surmised. It was most definitely not the place he had last been. There was the scent of food coming from somewhere to his left, and somewhere off in the distance he could hear what sounded like buffeting winds.

However, he eventually grew bored with not seeing, and hastily opened his eyes. He covered them just as quickly, when he noticed the pair of uncovered windows, and tried to have his shadows close them, when that failed, Pitch tried to get up and close the window blinds. His body would not obey him, and after an unceremonious flop, Pitch settled back down with a muttered expletive. He did not dwell on why his powers failed to obey, and blamed it on the sheer brightness of the room.

He sat for a time, trying to figure out where he was, and how best to return to his lair. He'd just have to get out of the light- and then he could leave, simple. But first, he'd have to stand without falling. With a plan in mind, Pitch straightened out and eased his legs over the edge of the bed. His knees quivered lightly at first, even before touching the ground, and when he tried to stand they trembled horridly and threatened to buckle. It was agonizing, and took quite a while, but eventually he could bear the brunt of his weight. He stood in place for a time, worried that if he moved, he would fall over. However, once the shaking in his legs seemed to stop, he cautiously made his way to the windows and covered them.

The darkness was a boon, and the fire on his skin seemed to diminish if only slightly. He opened his eyes once more and examined the area in which he found himself. First, he found that this was certainly not one of his lairs, if the windows had not been clue enough then the sky blue of the walls cemented that fact. The food that he had smelled earlier was there as well, a platter of cooling cookies- odd. Pitch hobbled about, curiosity getting the better of him, before he remembered that he still needed to leave. Pitch pulled at the shadows, beckoning them to him. However the shadows hardly moved, and only a subtle change in brightness indicated that they still obeyed him. Pitch became worried at this, and tried again it resulted the same, so he contemplated what other ways he could leave. The door was to his right and Pitch tested the knob, it was locked, as he'd expected. He could break out the windows, but then he'd be contesting with the direct sunlight.

With a huff, Pitch sat in a chair beside the bed. He stretched his legs and reclined in the hope that more rest would help him gather his strength. He decided to wait until dusk and then he could leave with minimal pain on his part. Eventually he'd begun to nod off. By the time the door creaked open, Pitch had already fallen to sleep.

Jack was startled to say the least, when he'd found Pitch out of bed. he had nearly dropped the plate he'd brought in. He caught it, but not without some noise. In the clamor, Jack did not notice Pitch opening his eyes. Jack quickly recovered however, and went to sit the plate on the table with the cookies. He swapped them with a sigh and turned to leave, he paused however, when he saw Pitch watching him with a bored expression.  
"Morning, Pitch- I wasn't expecting you to be awake so soon. How are you feeling?" Jack began as he moved closer to the door in case he needed to flee, but Pitch did not seem too interested in harming him. In fact, outside of watching him, Pitch hardly seemed to care that there was a Guardian in the room. He even went so far as to ignore Jack's question.

"I wonder what is this one is about." Pitch stated, tracking Jack's movements languidly, "This is a lot different than the last nightmare, but perhaps the plot is the same-"

"What are you talking about Pitch?"

"Never mind, it doesn't matter. I suppose I will just see how it ends. "Pitch did not really answer Jack once again, he didn't have time to waste on explaining the same thing over and over, he'd already tried telling the guardians before, but they would not believe that they were in a dream of his own creation. Pitch just hoped that Jack would leave and forget to lock the door, so he could slip out later.

"Could you leave..." Pitch muttered, "I was trying to sleep."  
Retorts on his tongue, Jack finally opened the door, he kept it only wide enough for him to get through, and left with a curt "I'll be back later."

Pitch was silent as he strained to hear the sound of a lock clicking but there was none, he cheered mentally and became excited. Now all he needed to do was wait for dusk. He settled again into a more comfortable position and tried to rest once more.

.- .- .- -.- .

"He's awake,"

North looked up from the ice sculpture he had begun crafting. It melted a bit in his hands as he tried to stop it from slipping. He glanced at Jack with something akin to a smile.

"Well he was awake before I left but maybe he went back to sleep," Jack continued.  
"Did he say anything?," North asked, as he continued his work.  
"Yeah, the usual cryptic things, he thought he was dreaming-"

North seemed saddened by this, but thanked Jack nonetheless. The fun spirit excused himself, and left North to his craft. Though disappointed that Pitch was so- delirious, North was at least pleased to hear that the fear spirit had awoken. At least they'd soon be able to deal with the problem before them.

While Jack had plans to go to Burgess, North intended to check on their resident Nightmare King. Pitch's room was not far from his own, and North made the short trip quickly. He paused at the door, unsettled, but by what, he knew not. He entered cautiously, and found that there was nothing to fear. The spirit sat sprawled across a recliner by the door, he was asleep, or it appeared so, but there was something off. Nevertheless, North lifted the other spirit, and moved him back to the bed, careful not to jostle him, lest it irritate his wounds. He frowned at the flecks of black sand upon the chair, and swiped them down to the floor. He frowned once more at the other spirit, before he departed.

Something was peculiar indeed.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	4. Ripples

Mend  
Ripples

He woke slowly, body disagreeing as he came to awareness. He was someplace damp; he could smell that even before he opened his eyes. Freshly wet leaves stuck all over his skin and clothing alike. Pitch's eyes scanned the area, and he'd found that he'd ended up in one of his older lairs, many years abandoned. It was day; the light streaming in from the mouth of the cave told him so. He stood, testing the strength of his body, and did not find it as lacking as he had in the dream prior. He walked around; observing the old place, the muck of nature still tainted it from when it had flooded all those years ago. He wondered if the stream was still just outside-. He hoped he'd not have to stay here for too long, and he pulled at his powers but once more they reacted weakly, likely still recovering from the strain. He walked to the mouth of the cave, wanting to find something to do, since he would be staying here for a while. Luckily it was shaded and cool, and he could see that damnable stream too.

He needed to regain his strength, Pitch decided as he rested along the stream's edge, he tossed rocks into the water and fed upon the weak bursts of fear that the fish emitted as they darted away. It would take far too long to collect power from small fish, and there was a small fishing village not far from the stream. Though he doubted that he could make the journey by walking, Pitch was unhappy about it, but it seemed he would have to stay in the forest, for a bit longer than he'd hoped.

Pitch found a stick, then a rock, it was a bit rudimentary, but it would have to do, he would need some way to feed himself, and later, hopefully attract other predators to him. The fish were not intelligent enough- not large enough, to give him a significant boost in power, scaring them, and then capturing them would provide a bit more. With that, he could then use the fish to attract something like a bear, or a puma- an intelligent hunter which he could use for sustenance, until of course it stopped fearing him, or he had enough energy to make his way to the village...With this in mind, he wasted the remaining daylight by slowly sharpening the stick into a spear with the rock. At sunset, he began to chase the fish, more for the fear than the food. The ones he cornered, he captured, and the ones that tried to escape, he attempted to spear. He had dug a small pit near his cave and filled it with water; the fish he kept alive were placed there. He did not bother with cooking the fish he'd killed, food was food, and it wasn't as if he'd become sick. He ate it as it was, after cleaning it of course, even he had standards. He frowned at the taste, but he enjoyed the fact that the headache abated- even if minutely. Once he had finished all of his meal, Pitch took the fish scraps, and walked from the cave, he would simply scatter their remains, and hopefully, something would be attracted to the scent. He smudged the remains across various trees, and bushes, then back tracked to the stream, and deposited the pile there. With luck, something would see it before morning.

He watched the stream from within the cave, he was downwind, it was unlikely that any predator would smell him before he saw it. He waited all night, a vicious hunger settled in his bones reminding him that he would need to scare something soon. He had begun to settle down on the cave floor when he heard something lapping at the waters outside. Pitch peered out at the stream, and spotted a grand stag just standing by the water's edge. It was not what he'd been expecting, but it would have to do. He wandered out, making sure to keep to the darkest shadows. It looked at him before he could even step out of the cave. It did not regard him for long, and bent again to drink the water. Curiosity befell Pitch, leaving him intrigued. It did not fear him as he'd expected, and Pitch found he'd have to use other methods of attaining what he needed. He tried to summon nightmare sand, but that, as he'd expected didn't even respond. So, with the little energy he gathered earlier, he summoned the shadows, and bent them to behave as a bear. Incorporeal though it was, the stag startled as if a real bear had come to it. It fled, on fleet feet, leaving Pitch to appreciate the fear it had given him. It was far more than the fish had given him, and Pitch hoped that he'd be visited again by something of the forest.

He waited until sunrise, but nothing came to him, and Pitch decided that he would try and find another animal. At least- he would try come nightfall, it would be far better if he slept during the day to conserve the energy he had gotten. Pitch went and collected some straw from below the trees, and made a meager bed for himself. Bone tired, he settled down and closed his eyes.  
He feared what would await him inside his dreams.

. … .-.. . . .-.

He woke to the brightness again, it seared his skin, but he ignored it for more important matters. He was back, back at the damnable blue room. Jack was there, watching him, as if he'd never left. They locked eyes for a time, then, Pitch looked at the blinds, a forlorn expression taking over.  
_He was trapped in another cycle._

The thought irritated him a great deal, and Pitch found himself cursing the Nightmares, Sanderson, cursing nightmare sand, and himself for being so weak.  
"Damn this torment-" Pitch yelled, a sob ready to leave his throat. Jack looked confused, but did not speak. He let the Nightmare King weep to himself. He should not be here… Once again, Jack waited where he did not belong.

After a while, Jack could not stand to watch the Nightmare King regress into himself, he extended a hand, and patted the other on the shoulder, awkward, but at least the spirit had quieted some.

"I thought I was free," Pitch said with a harsh intake, "Thought that they had found something else to do, someone else to torment perhaps. Of course I was wrong. Of course I've got to stay with you Guardians until they feel fit to start another dream, what better way to mess with me?"

Pitch lurched away from Jack- his face was blank, but his eyes were alight with something fiery, madness, hatred- it did not matter it was gone just as quickly, quashed under a dull mask.

Jack's hand hovered where Pitch's shoulder had been. "Pitch you're not asleep-"  
Pitch scowled, "They'd want you to say that-" he muttered.

"Who are 'They', Pitch, you realize that no one is tormenting you, we're trying to help you regain your strength."

"Sure you are, every time I dream of you guardians, it is the same drivel, 'Oh lets help the Nightmare King and teach him to do good!' I don't want- No, I will not let the same cycles repeat themselves. "Pitch responded, he had begun to stand, His figure, emaciated as it was, loomed over Jack threateningly. He tested his power, low but hopefully enough to get him some place darker. Jack looked angered now, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but Pitch stopped him.

"What do you hope to accomplish? I am not good, I cannot be contained, and belief will not sustain me. Did you think I would join you? Perhaps we could play some petty game of mock affection- oh, or this time are you going to try and lock me away? Unoriginal, the lot of you. Regardless, I will be leaving despite whatever your plans may be."

He beckoned the shadows, and they came to him just as quickly as he'd ordained. He'd begun to think of a destination, when Jack's irritating voice called his attention.  
"You can't leave- there are-"

Pitch inclined his head as if challenged, and stepped into the darkness, when he found the void, he saw the barriers, a searing gold, not unlike that of dream sand. He peered at them, disgusted that he'd been trapped and awed by the sandman's handiwork. He cursed Sanderson once more, as he resurfaced in the physical plane. Jack waited, looking exasperated.

"Do you ever listen to anyone? No, we don't want to lock you up or force you to join us- we just- look Pitch-" Jack said, his words didn't seem to be working, "What can I do to prove to you that this is no dream."  
Pitch stilled, no one within his dreams had ever asked him that but he did not falter in his belief. He thought for a time, the fury within him drained in that time as well.  
"If you want to prove it to me, simply prove that you exist… just- do something I would not expect", Pitch decided finally.  
"Very well, I will try to prove to you that this is no dream."  
Jack walked away from the bed, and returned with a platter of food. He handed it to Pitch, who had sat down at the chair beside the door, he didn't bother trying to leave, for he knew the barriers would also prevent him from walking out. Jack passed the platter to Pitch who just looked at it with disdain. He set it aside, and watched Jack as he moved towards the door.  
"Anything I could get you?" Jack asked, as he began to make his way to the door.  
"You could get Sanderson to remove the barriers, I would appreciate that-"Pitch responded sharply, and of course, Jack simply shut the door and left him.

"Wonderful," Pitch whispered, "There's just always another cycle isn't there…"

* * *

Edited 6-26-2016


	5. Waning

Mend  
Waning

The sitting was painful after a while, and he'd grown tired of staring knives into the blinds. With a plan in mind, he stood, poised on weak legs and began to wander about the room. With some of his power back, he did not hesitate to send shadows to shut the blinds, and within the darkened room, he took in the sight of his prison. He did not particularly care for the blue paint- it reminded him too much of the day sky. He found a dresser which was painted with dainty clouds, children books sat upon the top. It was empty of clothes, but the top drawer was filled with gauze and antiseptic as well as a needle and thread. He closed it and moved on to a bit of shelving on the wall. It was also stacked with children books. He picked one up, and looked at the sprawl on the spine. "The hungry, hungry caterpillar," He scoffed and set the book down. At the floor there sat a toy, a train, and he bent to lift it. Halfway down he hissed as a burning pain spread in his side. He straightened, slowly this time, and clutched his side. He inched to the dresser, removed the gauze and antiseptic, then sat upon the wooden floor. It was pleasantly cool, but it did little to soothe the burning from his re-opened wounds. He slipped out of his clothing and pat his wounds. The bandages were foul, and had been neglected. Though Pitch felt no regret for scaring off Jack; he was independent, and could tend to himself. He clenched his teeth as he removed them, for the old bandages pulled at his skin and irritated his wounds even more.

It was arduous, but eventually he managed to unbind the bandages at his waist. He frowned at the blackened bandages as they sat in a heap; the dried blood looked diseased at worst, tainted at best. Nevertheless, he removed the antiseptic and smeared the salve across his side, his mouth watered at the sting. Once he finished cleaning the wound, he straightened and began to wrap himself in the new set of gauze. It was strangely soothing, and he found some solace in the pleasant rhythm. He stilled once he was done, and stared down at his hands, there was still more to do. He changed from his kneeled position and began the cleaning again, as his legs were also in need of care. It took him until the sun hung low in the sky before he had finished tending to his wounds, and by then his arms had begun to protest his movements. He stilled, too calmed to move, and too tired to even want to. But he would not sleep, not again if he could help it. The scrapping of cloth he decided was not cleanly enough for him to continue wearing, and Pitch hastily placed them near the door. He rummaged through a closet he had seen earlier, and found come clothing, but it was exceptionally large and hardly fit. Nevertheless it'd have to do- regardless to how much he hated the blue on it.

At the point that he'd finished dressing, he'd already begun to nod off. But rather than sleep, He sank into the void and found rest in the darkness. He sat amongst the rippling shadows, pensive as he watched the barriers flicker. He could not feel the shadows beyond the barriers, he was cut off, trapped within a square and forced to sit in wait. He frowned at the silence in his prison, where once he could hear the chaotic whispering of his shadows, there now existed only a dull buzz from the barriers themselves. He could not call out to them, nor ask them to cause fear or find him sustenance. He was forced to wait here until the Guardians seemed fit, until he faded away, or he was powerful enough to break free. He hummed, a dark look settling on his face- there was nothing he could do but wait.

He grumbled as he got to his feet, there was no point in wasting any more energy within the void, and Pitch re-materialized in the room. Something bumped into his stomach, and Pitch looked down with a hiss of pain. He'd not checked to see if anyone was in his room, and as such was not expecting to collide with Tooth upon his return. He did not clutch his bandages, despite his desire to, and leveled Tooth with as annoyed a look as he could muster. Tooth simply chuckled, unthreatened as Pitch looked ridiculous, clad as he was in such a strange outfit.

"Why are you down here," he idly wondered.  
"I came to see how you were healing. I see you've re-wrapped your bandages" Tooth responded her voice low as if to soothe a beast. She eyed his bandages with scrutiny and he frowned under her gaze.  
"It seemed that they were forgotten and I could not leave such wounds unattended," Pitch responded tersely. Tooth extended a hand as if to test the tightness of his wrappings, and he stepped back with something akin to contempt in his eyes.

"You guardians have been trying to touch me this entire time- I am not a pet, I do not wish to be touched. "He grunted. Tooth merely made a noncommittal sound and stepped back. He frowned lightly, he would not rest in her presence- it was too weak a gesture, and it brought the stinging phantom of pain to his chest. Though his pride would not let him kneel, Pitch would not continue to stand in pain just to save face; so he leaned against the wall.  
I must look pitiful, Pitch surmised. He'd not noticed it at first, but Tooth had been staring at him with a look like one would give to something sad and lost.

He almost wished he had gone to sleep.  
Nevertheless, Pitch turned to her, discontent with being watched and sighed loudly.

"You can go, it's not like I can leave…"  
"Yes, I know, but I wanted to see if you were OK. I will leave if it makes you feel better, is there anything I can bring you, food, a book, anything at all?"  
He fought back the urge to yell his demands to her. Food, his body whined.  
"Some food…meat if you would be so kind," Pitch said slowly. As much as he abhorred regressing to solid food, his body would not recover if he had no strength. Tooth nodded, a smile on her lips as she darted out of the room.

He slid down the wall as soon as the door clicked shut. The vertigo had grown to be too much to bear, but he'd not rest, not yet. Sustenance was so close and he could already taste what meager energy it would bring him. Luckily, Tooth arrived quickly- as if food had been prepared before he had asked. His vision swam and he did not bother to stand- pride be damned. It had been so long, and the food smelled delicious. He forwent his fork and wolfed down his food in frenzy. He shuddered at the pleasant tingle that filled him as he ate.  
Something manic settled in Pitch's mind, an earlier dream perhaps, and he was urged to find more to eat- but he quashed it down once sanity returned to him.  
Patience, he muttered.

Tooth had fled the room.

* * *

Edited 6-26-2016


	6. Favor

Mend  
Favor

The grand room could not have been more uncomfortable. Tension in the air as North spoke.  
"Jack has been telling me of Pitch's beliefs -if you will. For some reason he believes he is dreaming. I am not sure as to why he may think this, but in order for him to help us, we'll need him to realize that he is in fact awake."  
"How should we go about doing that? It isn't like he'll easily believe us." Aster responded.

"Honestly I don't know, it's going to be difficult." North responded. Aster and tooth nodded somberly and took their leave. Sanderson however, remained and beckoned North to where he sat.

" What more do you know of Pitch's ailment? " Sandy gesticulated. He felt that he knew what Pitch was suffering from.

"Very little my friend, he has not spoken of what goes on in his sleep," North paused for a time "well, I did notice something odd. When he was asleep, I saw him, he did not look distressed, but for some reason, nightmare sand had collected around him. It was odd, because it wasn't like he was dirty. But still, there it was." Sanderson gave him a knowing sort of look. He was yet unsure on whether what he thought was happening was actually happening. Sanderson thanked North and slipped away. He wanted to see the state of their resident fear spirit.

Sanderson almost regretted coming to Pitch's room at night. Though the room was designed to be light and childish, the presence of the fear spirit seemed to darken it. From the bed, gold peered at him, vibrant despite the fact that Pitch had clearly just woken. His breath was ragged as if he'd just been racing and he did not look docile as Jack and Tooth had suggested he was. There was an unhinged, almost manic look to the Nightmare King as Sanderson greeted him.

Sandy smiled politely, and Pitch only blinked his acknowledgement. With a sigh, Sanderson sat beside the bed, he was cautious, but Pitch seemed content to hate him in silence. Sanderson frowned at the smattering of silvery-black sand around the bed.

"The sand has always been around, if you were wondering. Not all of it was stolen from you."

Sandy ignored Pitch, and touched the sand that had fallen to the ground. It was lifeless; the usual corded energy was gone. There was no power to be found within.

"You said that the sand has always been here? Does it manifest in your dreams as well?"

"Yes, but it is usually more active," Pitch said, lifting the sand and watching it float down.

Sanderson looked calmly at Pitch and frowned. He rolled a grain in his hand.  
"I will look into this," Sanderson signed. He walked to the door and Pitch watched him blindly.  
"You waste your time, it will not wake you from this dream." Pitch muttered. He got to his feet, and clutched his head. Sanderson had interrupted his rest, and the presence of dream sand had woken him.  
He shuttered as he struggled to get the dreams from his head. Pitch leaned against the door, nauseous, the room was spinning. He slid down against the door, the headache abating. With resolve, Pitch slipped into the shadows. He should not have fallen asleep. This time, he would make sure he did not.  
The bright barriers roused him, and the shadows spoke to him.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	7. Feint

Mend  
Feint

Pitch moved at last, the barriers flickering around him. He had not dreamed during the night, nor had he even grown tired. The meditative glow of the barriers had calmed him for a time, and he'd almost forgot that he was dreaming. But he knew that he was, when he felt the shadows of his room constrict at the cold presence.

Jack pushed open the door, and frowned at the empty room. He startled a bit, though not as violently, he'd grown used to Pitch's spontaneous entrances. The nightmare spirit looked at Jack apathetically, however his eyes locked onto the plate in Jack's hands.  
"I know what you're thinking, and yes, you can have some, but I have something else in store for you today."  
Pitch glanced at Jack absentmindedly.  
"What, do you intend to douse me in dream sand?" Pitch remarked dryly. Jack looked at him in confusion, but did not question the other spirit.  
"I've convinced Sandy to remove the barriers around your room." Jack said, he passed the plate to Pitch with a grin so wide it was painful to look at.  
"Oh?" Pitch said tiredly, he would be surprised, if the barriers weren't still around him. He could feel the cloying shadows without needing to see the barriers himself.  
"He hasn't removed them yet, but you can explore the workshop with me today now that you're feeling better." Jack enthused, "But first finish your breakfast."  
Balefully, Pitch began to eat. Resigned to living off of food- pitiful. At least he suspected he'd not be dreaming for much longer.

Jack waited patiently, while Pitch ate. It confused him greatly, as none of the other spirits seemed to need physical sustenance. It was merely out of desire that any of them ate. So why, did he eat?  
Pitch cleared his throat quietly, before he swallowed the last of his meal.

"I am not like you, the sooner you realize that, the sooner you will stop being confused. I precede most of you guardians, and even the Man in the Moon. Thus I abide by a different set of rules."  
Jack grinned, a mischievous look that made Pitch soon regret even acknowledging Jack.  
"Let's go," Jack said, with a light skip, the spirit of fun dashed to the door, and opened it grandly.  
"This is the east wing of the workshop, everyone has a room here, though most of us go back to our own places."

Pitch strode silently behind Jack, though he searched for possible ways in which to leave, he did not look too hard. This was a dream, thus there was no point in leaving one cage to be trapped in another. Still, he paid close attention to the shadows. He was still cut off from the rest of them, as there was likely a barrier around the workshop that he had not perceived of earlier. Nevertheless, he listened to what information they had collected as he followed behind Jack.  
Jack rambled on, as they came to the heart of the workshop, where the belief globe shone brightly with the light of billions of believers, and Pitch bit back something acrid. It still stung even now. He thought often of the suffocating pull of the nightmares, their whinnies still rang in his ears sometimes. But no longer had he to fear of them. His dreams gave him ample time to pick them apart, and see what he could not when he was awake.  
"Pitch," Jack called, and the fear spirits' eyes focused on him. "It may bore you, but you don't have to be rude and ignore me."  
An apathetic look crossed Pitch's face, and he sighed.

"Now, these are the kitchens-Pitch!" Pitch had again begun to ignore him in favor of thinking to himself, but again he looked over at Jack.  
"Merely because you don't see me watching or listening to you does not mean that I am not." Pitch responded coolly.  
Ice spread around Jack in mild frustration, "Still, you could at least act like you're paying attention."  
"How are we ever going to stop it, if you can't even pay attention now…"Jack muttered. With a sigh, Jack began to visit the last parts of the workshop. He led Pitch back to the hallway near his room, and turned to the other spirit.  
"That's all of it. You can go where you please, according to North…Just don't get lost. If I can't find you, you have to make breakfast yourself."

Pitch nodded, hoping that Jack would leave him to explore on his own. It was not long for his hopes to be fulfilled, as Jack left quickly after spouting off some drivel about his upcoming visit to Burgess. But when Pitch was left alone, it was not what he was expecting. He expected to feel more free, well as free as being trapped in a building could be. However he stood in the hallway with no purpose. There was no way to escape a dream such as this. There was no point in trying to escape, and he had only the option of waiting.  
Somehow Pitch found himself seated on the floor. The cool felt nice against his arms, and he settled against the tile in a more comfortable manner.

Drip, drip, drip; water landed on Pitch. He sputtered as he was suffocated. His mouth opened in search for air, but his tongue could only taste sand. His eyes opened quickly, searching for what he knew not. Sea, his mind yelled, as his eyes met briny water and he compelled himself to swim to the surface. His arms ached, and his lungs burned by the time he reached the top and he frowned at the near endless sea before him. His eyes darted over the water and over the sky, he remembered this one. He had seen it oh so many times. The sea was dark, the waters tainted by nightmare sand, and they moved fitfully about him.

Before him arose a great nightmare, and the sea below became blue once more.  
"Weak," The beast bellowed.

Pitch only glared, he had heard it all before, and no longer did he feel anything upon seeing the mare.  
"Look around you, what have you amassed? There is nothing to your name, no power to behold in you."  
"No power any longer, I am a man lost in dreams. But, now, I am a master of my fears." Pitch said over the howling winds.  
"You are master of nothing." It rumbled, in a timbre not unlike thunder.  
"Nay. Look how you run out of new terrors to bring me. I've nothing to fear of you any longer."  
"You will always fear death." It called, and a massive plume of sand left the water. Pitch only watched apathetically as the nightmare started to stand. The swarm fluttered about his chest in a chaotic manner and grasped him tightly. With a wet crack, he felt calm, and the air fled his body. Lungs and whatever else he had left in his body popped like balloons…

He awoke to a tightness around his ribs and Pitch gasped for breath like a fish out of water. Though breathing was merely a habit, it still startled him to be out of it. He gripped the shadows, and they rippled as frantically as he felt. Eventually his heart stilled, and he let his head hit the tile. The shadows flickered around the room as the rest of his energy displaced. He smiled grimly, the sound of his own ribs splitting was not pleasant, but he had found a way to end his dreams. He wondered now, the extent of the barriers, and he wondered if there were any wards to prevent him from harming himself.

He chuckled to himself, as he slipped into the shadows. Once more the barriers glowed gold, though the void around him was far greater, he almost could not see the barriers, they were so far away. He wandered to them, calmly and on gentle steps. The void sucked up the sound, but the barrier crackled with energy despite that. The shadows lapped at the edges, displeased with being confined. He stilled them, and went to touch the lively magic. It seared his skin, burning it in such a way that he recoiled violently. The lines of words caused him happiness, at least on the barriers, he could find no lines which would prevent him from harming himself.

Though…the barriers could still pose a problem, he could not perceive of their full protections, and Sanderson likely hid them well.  
Nevertheless, a cautious excitement filled the spirit. Perhaps he could wake at last.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	8. Finite

Mend  
Finite

Pitch drifted in the darkness, eyes locked onto the barriers before him. The Guardians called for him, he could hear it on the fleeting shadows around them. They had been searching for a while, yet Pitch deigned not to deal with them. No, the curving words written into the barriers commanded his attention, thus he focused with a profound excitement. He had gone over the words time and time again, but still one line worried him. Would it work the same way given a different situation? Questions, questions- He did not dwell on it for much longer. He was wasting energy, but it was inconsequential at this point, and he used it as freely as he wished. This was his personal world, and he was overjoyed at the near boundlessness which existed here, but it was inevitable that he'd have to leave, as he could feel an encroaching urge to shut the Guardians up. With a low grumble, Pitch stood, and with a tug he opened a pathway to his room. North shuddered violently, the sudden surprise had left him a ghostly white. Pitch stood before him with a look of sheer annoyance. Though deeply unsettled, North sighed in relief.

"Oh, thank the moon. We've been looking all over for you," North said, the somber attitude he'd had earlier dissolved upon seeing the fear spirit.  
Pitch ignored him and hobbled to the chair.  
"Where were you? We became worried after you were not in your room for breakfast," North continued, discontent at being ignored.  
"I was in the void" Pitch responded, his voice tired and gruff from disuse.  
"The void?"  
"Yes, try as you might, I cannot be separated from the shadows, at least not completely"

"So the void is what you call it when you enter the darkness…?"North muttered quietly.  
If Pitch were not so drained from using his power, he would have risen and smacked the oaf of a Guardian.  
"One moment, let me inform the others. Please don't leave." North called, as he started to make a path to the door.  
Pitch waited until he could no longer hear North in the hall before he stood and began to search his room. He needed a tool so that he could test the stringency of the protection that the barriers provided. He had only begun searching the closet when the Guardians arrived. He turned slightly, acknowledging their presence, and stopped searching.

"Well? Say something." Pitch muttered. Why did they constantly feel fit to just watch him, he wondered. Aster gave him a cool look, and Jack finally spoke up, "Why were you hiding from us?"  
He muttered, his heart still raced, what would have happened if he had escaped? Jack did not think he could fathom the consequences. Pitch frowned and got to his feet.

"I was not hiding; I simply did not desire to deal with you all." Pitch responded. He was wasting time, and he quite badly wanted to begin testing the barriers.

"Why are you so- annoying?" Jack said. Frankly he had grown tired of Pitch's belligerence. North had asked them all to be nice, but it was quite difficult when the person he had to be nice to was just so…infuriating.

"We're trying to help you get better; we aren't trying to harm you. Even if you think this is some dream, you shouldn't act like none of this matters."

A scowl crossed Pitch's face, foolish, presumptuous Guardians. Something hot coiled in him, igniting a fire which had been covered until now.

"I did not ask you to be brought here, nor did I ask you to extend your 'kindness' to me. I am captive here by you will, and this is not my home, you are not my equivalents and I am severed from my power. So while you think you may be helping, you have hardly done anything save invoking my ire," he had shrunk back a bit, but Tooth seemed very displeased.

"Regardless of the fact that we brought you here against your will, you're still here. Instead of complaining about your situation, do something to change it. Becoming angry at us will not make it any easier for you," She said did not respond, he did not need to be lectured by a Guardian. His legs were beginning to hurt from standing, and he wandered to his chair and sat.

"What was it that you wanted, little Guardians? You would not have searched to hard if it were not so Pitch said after a time.  
"It doesn't matter now, it is already over. We'll have to try again another time." Sanderson signed, he looked disappointed, but Pitch couldn't care less.  
"Very well then, You should take your leave." Pitch suggested with a casual flick of his wrist. This had taken far longer than he'd anticipated.  
The Guardians looked confused, but filled out without complaint. All save North whom waited at the doorway until the others had passed.  
"Do you still believe this is a dream?" North Whispered, aware that Pitch could hear him.  
"Yes, everything that has happened in this dream has happened before in others, though perhaps not in the same order." Pitch responded. He peered at North, curiosity evident in golden eyes. North held his hands nervously. "Well, whether this is all a dream in your head or not, children are still getting hurt. Eventually, we will need your help in stopping it."  
Pitch cocked his head, "Why? Why must I help save children?"

"They have stopped believing-"

"So? That's good for me, you get weaker, and I have no need for belief." The fear spirit interrupted.

"Pitch, would you just listen? Since you've been gone, Nightmares have run rampant. Not only have they stopped children from believing, but their presence has even made an impact on the adults."

A stunned silence filled the space. Traitorous mares, Pitch thought. Still, this was just a dream, right? Quietly, Pitch responded, "What makes you think I will help, I am your enemy."

"Were, you were our enemy. Though you may have made poor choices before, I know you will make the right choice in time."  
North stepped out, his fingers lingered on the door knob, and he wondered whether he had misspoken. But it was the truth; people could change, so maybe spirits could too?

.- .- .- -.- .

Fools the lot of them, Pitch thought as he stood to continue where he'd left off. Kind words and false purpose did not dissolve their differences. Enemies or not, Pitch survived on the fear and misery of people, not their belief. He would not be part of something so parallel to his existence. Even if he could, his world did not consist of sunshine and rainbows, he would not be resigned to such naiveté. He left in search of a tool. His mind worked to tell him that it was all a dream, a nagging suspicion formed on the side. He pushed the notion down. He'd find out soon enough, as Pitch finally locked eyes with the item he'd been searching for. He pulled the scissors close, they were dusty from disuse but they would do. Pitch hummed appreciatively, and left for his room.

The Guardians looked confused.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	9. Forthcoming

Warnings: Character death

* * *

Mend  
Forthcoming

He found himself in the void again, staving off the desire to sleep by staring yet again into the bright barriers which outlined his prison. He watched one line skeptically. His entire plan hinged on the fact that the line had no protocol for how to deal with him. It was somewhat of a gamble, given that he could not see all of the words. Never the less, he felt confident in Sandy's tendency to forget his investigative nature. With a strengthened resolve, Pitch returned to the over world. This time, there were no guardians to pester him when he materialized. He lavished in the blackness of the room, but that was now why he returned. His eyes scanned the room, the sliver of reflecting steel pulled his attention. He quickly picked up his scissors, and went to sit in the large chair near the door. He extended his hand, and examined the thin skin against the back of his hand. He did not need to cause himself much pain, nor draw much blood. He smoothed the skin once, then primed the scissors, and sniped at the junction of skin between his thumb and index finger. He did not flinch, nor jump at the sting. He waited for a bit and squeezed at it to coax the sluggish fluid from the cut. The shadows opened without his command, and he wandered in to look for any changes. As he'd predicted, nothing had happened. But to be sure, he clipped his hand again, a bit more carelessly again. But the barriers continued in a tranquil state. Now there was a certainty in Pitch's mind that he would experience no repercussions for his actions. However, there was only one thing he had to test next, and his body seemed quite happy to start testing that now. Pitch left the void and flopped onto the bed. His eyes were closed before he'd even begun to get comfortable.

The forest came to life around him, and Pitch smiled. The brook babbled nearby, and his spear sat against the caves' wall. The rain was new, but he was not deterred. Though he could quickly test his theory, he felt that the use of the spear would be a bit messy and painful, given the bluntness of the stone. He instead opted for something more conventional. It was early, and he could still try for a trip into the village. His energy was far better than when he'd first come to this dream, and he resolved to make the trek. Pitch hefted the spear, and pulled some of the remaining fish from their pool. They would make for a good trade, and even if the humans could not see him, he could rob someone of their weapon and he would have food for the trip. He strung them up with some twine left in the cave, and tied them to his spear.

Despite what he'd imagined the trip was quick, and though he wandered in during the rain, the people were more than happy to help him out. His feet were muddy, but he couldn't have cared less as he handed three fish to a man in return for his old blade. The man felt he'd ripped Pitch off, but Pitch had already begun to head in the direction of his cave. He got past the final bits of houses, and came upon the stream which led back to his temporary home. He sat in it, uncaring of the wetness and rinsed of the blade out of habit. With some unknown task complete, Pitch raised it to his jugular with a grim excitement and he pulled it with as much force as he could manage. His hands stuttered and went limp. Then his body failed, but he could feel a little more, as the blood hit arms. One, he counted in his head. The darkness did not cause him worry; he had existed in this state many times before. Two, he counted, and light hit his eyes as he woke again in the guardians' workshop. Doubt left him. And manic glee filled his mind. All he needed to do was repeat his death. Pitch stood, touching his neck, testing to see if the skin had actually been damaged. Nothing was wrong.

He never would have done this normally; he preferred to wait for his dreams to end. But he'd been asleep for far too long. Dreams were repeating, and he'd only been wasting time. And now, he could feel himself slipping without the ability to gather fear on the scale he needed. Mild discomfort was worth it if he could manage to get back to his real body. Pitch locked the door.

He sat on the bed rocking the scissors from hand to hand. Apprehension stayed his hand, he was attempting something new. What if this is real…he thought for a moment. But he crushed the notion as quickly as it had welled up. With a growl, he opened the scissors and raised the blade to his neck. No more apprehension, no more worries. He pulled the blade taunt against his neck. A knock startled him, and he missed part of his jugular. He tried to raise the scissors again, but he could not muster the strength. He struggled this time, he'd clipped himself enough that the blood fell freely, but it was not fast, and the sting was not something he'd expected. The Guardian knocked on the door again, but Pitch could not open the door even if he'd wanted to. He could not see any longer, and when he could no longer feel the blood on his arms, he began to count. Two, he hummed, waiting in the void. Cold inched from his fingers and toes as he closed in on the four second mark. The grin left his face. He should have woken up by now. His body was so cold. It had been twenty seconds, when Pitch tugged at the shadows around him. "Do something," he asked them. The shadows writhed angrily around him as they carried out his command.

-…-

"Pitch! Breakfast!" Jack yelled, when no one answered. He knocked loudly, again nothing happened, and Jack leaned his ear against the door. The room was silent save the frequent sound of gasping, Jack scrunched up his nose, it smelled heavily of iron. Still, Jack thought nothing of it, and knocked once more for good measure. North exited his office and looked at Jack with mild confusion.

"Hey, North, could you unlock this door, Pitch is ignoring me again," Jack said.  
North sighed and reached for the master key he kept in his pocket. He handed it to Jack, and began to walk towards the center of the workshop. Jack opened the door quickly, "Pi-"

North stopped as he heard a clamor, and Jack yelled for him, sounding frantic. North turned heel and returned to the room, Jack did his best to staunch whatever blood still sluggishly left the other spirits' form. The scent was cloying, and maddening as North hunted for any wrappings. He handed them to Jack, and then left in search of the others. Jack struggled not to push Pitch's cool body to the floor, he did not breathe, but then again, he'd never had to. Pitch's eyes were dull, the same as when they had originally found him and he lay limp in Jacks lap while he wound gauze around Pitch's neck. The shadows lurched, and the room darkened considerably. Jack struggled to see and held Pitch closer to himself. Pitch straightened, possessed by some force and knocked Jack off the bed. It wandered, about the darkness, blindly looking for something which was not there. One of Pitch's portals opened before him, and the possessed body walked through, closing the dark void behind him. The shadows fled too, and the room grew bright at their departure. Jack straightened the confusion had diminished and he stared at the blood stained sheets.

North stood at the door, he laced his fingers through his hair, how had he thought things were going well?

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	10. Threads

Mend  
Threads

The warm woke him swiftly as the cold leeched from his skin. Pitch tried to sit up, and the darkness strained against him, fighting his movement.  
"Move," he tried to croak, but no sound escaped him and his throat ached instead. The shadows darted again agitated by his pain. _'Still, Still__'_ they whispered in his head, and Pitch laid back patiently. The void soothed him for a time, until his mind grew too filled with questions.

_'What has become of my body?__'_ Pitch thought as he stared idly into the mass of shadows before him.  
_'It waits for your return.__'_ The shadows said and Pitch smiled.

Perhaps…he had made it back to the real world. It was very likely, given how he had departed from the first. He pulled at his power, excited now, and slunk from the void. The switch was very jarring, but he supposed that was to be expected after having been asleep for so long. He opened his eyes first and stared at his surroundings. Blue, blue- and his mind blackened. He sat up straighter to confirm his suspicions. The same chair sat beside the bed, the dresser and the closet, all of it remained the same. He felt his throat, and the filmy slick of shadows covered the unhealed expanse of his jugular. If he could have screamed his frustration, he would have. How had he not known he was awake? All of the time he had passed things off and he was awake. What else had he missed, Pitch wondered.

Whilst Pitch berated himself, Jack slipped past the door with a small platter In hand. He started at Pitch's alert form and paused where he stood.  
"Oh, you're awake" Jack called. He set the platter on the bedside table. And sat in the chair beside the bed. Pitch glanced at Jack and opened his mouth to speak, but the soreness in his throat withheld his answer.

"Right, your throat. Probably should have thought about that before you tried cutting it."  
Pitch rolled his eyes.

"North is disappointed in you, and I can't say I'm that pleased either. Why would you do that?" Jack muttered. Pitch looked at him, annoyed by Jack's pestering.

"It doesn't matter, you did not die…somehow. So heal up and then I'll let North know."  
Pitch looked down, why they were so fixated on him still astonished him. It may not have been a dream, but some things could not be reasoned. Pitch thought a bit on Jack's words, as the other spirit left for the halls. Well, he was lost now, there was no plan. All that was left to do was heal.  
As boring as that was, it was all he could do.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	11. Drifter

Mend  
Drifter

If words could describe the cold behavior of the guardians, Pitch did not know of it. They watched him in a detached manner, cautious of him, and yet worried for him at the same time. He acknowledged them in the same manner. For he felt some bit of remorse. Not because of their feelings, but rather that he did not see the signs that he was actually awake. It weighed heavily on his mind, his obliviousness. He stood about aimlessly, his mind was bereft of much thought as he focused his energy on dealing with his…injuries.

He had not again tried to speak, during the week since he'd come back, he'd not try again, for the silence brought solace to his mind, if anything. Besides, no guardians had come to speak to him since Jack, thus he'd had no reason to bother. Regardless-

A commotion sounded in the hall, and it sounded as if one of the Guardians had tripped. The sound stunned Pitch, he woke from his trance and watched the door, when nothing came through, he walked to it, and poked his head into the hallway. Whinnying echoed down the halls, Likely from the great room, or beyond. The clash of metal, and the sound of ice shattering added to the dissonance. Pitch left the room, his dreadful curiosity reared its head again. He cared little that he may have been walking into battle, as he had confidence that even in his…current state that he'd be able to handle what could be thrown at him. Upon nearing the great room the commotion died down. Whatever the guardians had been fighting, it had not been enough to overtake them. A smattering of black sand greeted Pitch as he entered the threshold, it permeated the air even as it drifted to the ground.

"You know North, this wouldn't have been as dangerous, if you know who had helped."

North glanced at Aster, a mildly disappointed look crossed his face.

"He would have helped us fight them, and you know it!" Aster called, as North went to look at the sand.

"I want Pitch to heal, it would be wrong to send him to fight as weak as he is." North muttered.

"And how long will that take? How long will he just sit there and stare off into space, Nick? You and I both know we don't have the months to wait or him to catch up."

Pitch watched them calmly from the doorway.

North glanced once more at Aster, and sighed, "Give him some more time. Then- " North paused at the strange look on Asters' face. He followed the pookas' eyes then frowned when they landed on Pitch.

"Pitch, what are you doing here?"

He tested his voice, and muttered under his breath about the sand which had begun to coat his clothing.

"Were these nightmares," Pitch whispered when at last his voice seemed presentable, though the ache in his throat disagreed. A bit of sand had collected in his hands, and he rolled the lifeless grains between his fingers. The sand seemed almost heavy, and he wanted to feel bad- but he could not bring himself to miss the nightmares that had once been. North looked cautious when he nodded. Pitch sighed at the response. The nightmares always were insurrectious little deviants.

"What did you need me to do?" Pitch released the sand in his hands.

Aster cast North a pleased look. However, North ignored Aster and answered, "You've only to tell us any weaknesses in the nightmares, and help us defeat them, simple."

Aster scoffed, "You make it seem easier than it is. We've been dealing with them for the past year, and we still haven't found anything that actually helps us fight them."

"Perhaps if you hadn't convinced them to leave me, this wouldn't have happened," Pitch muttered.

"Well, if we hadn't you'd be parading the globe and casting it in fear," Aster snapped.

"Not necessarily, you could have imprisoned me, banished me. Anything would have been better than- better than loose Nightmares and Fearlings right?"

North frowned, "Fearlings?"

"They're wisp like, most of the time. But given a command or a purpose, they can change at will." Pitch responded casually.

"We...have not encountered anything like that,"

"Well, they are not under my control, and given what they are, I'd assume they're wreaking havoc while the nightmares distract you."

A scowl marred Asters' face, "Great, just what we need."

"Would you prefer I'd not told you? Let you think you'd fixed the problem, when nothing would have changed?" Pitch responded coldly, he'd grown bored with Asters' contemptuousness. The pooka did not respond, though the irritation in his face was more than enough of an answer.

Pitch turned his attention back to North.

"When I remade Sanderson's sand into Nightmare sand, I fixed what imperfection in his sand that I'd found. By that logic, there is likely little that could be considered weak about my- the Nightmares. It's been some time since I looked at them, so even if I did know their weaknesses, I'd not be able to tell you without a living one."

North paused, contemplating what Pitch had said.

"Oh no, no, Don't tell me you're thinking about bringing him a live Nightmare," Aster countered, a bit flustered by the idea.

"Why not? It isn't like we could not deal with a single Nightmare," North replied.

"Besides, you don't need to bring me a nightmare, the sand in this room is more than enough for me to reconstruct one, but it will simply be a tad more difficult to make one than it would be to find an already living Nightmare." Pitch glanced at the sand around his feet.

"This is a horrible idea…you could just see the in action instead, that seems simpler than all of this." Aster complained.

"Not so, destroying them and fighting them will not give you any clue as to their weaknesses if it hasn't already. Rather than waste the time you hold so precious, let me find the weaknesses of my Nightmares." Pitch countered harshly. Aster looked as if he'd had more to say, but North stilled him.

"Fine,"Aster relented, "I'm going to check on the others." Aster turned and left the room.

Pitch scooped up the sand upon the ground.

"From this I will make a Nightmare, I will give you the findings." Pitch muttered to North.

North nodded, and followed after Aster.

He waited until the great doors closed behind North before he slipped traveled through the void. "Pitiful,"Pitch hissed. The shadows in the void fled his path as he closed back to his room and looked upon the heap of sand at the center of his bed.

"And to think, I was proud of you once."

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	12. Gleam

Mend  
Gleam

The sand pooled at his feet when he returned to North. North scrutinized him, as a nightmare formed of the darkened mass. It did not move about the room in unhampered chaos as the other nightmares had. It stayed close by Pitch's side, hardly moving save to smell the air.

"What's the matter with it?" North asked, the unnaturally still Nightmare looked at him cryptically.

"This nightmare was dead. That being the case, it is not connected to the same mass as the others, and I am in control of it. Thus it acts differently," Pitch responded.

"But I have not come to show you that."

Pitch walked over to the window and pulled the blinds. The nightmare quivered where it stood, but did not move, even as part of its body slid onto the floor.  
"Exposure to direct sunlight will cause Nightmares to fall apart, however keeping a nightmare in the light is the difficult part."

Pitch closed the blinds, and used some of his power to rebuild the nightmare. Next, he removed a small pouch of dream sand from his clothes, and called the nightmare over. He poured the contents of the pouch in one hand, and scooped a bit of sand off the nightmare in the other. He sprinkled the golden sand onto the nightmare sand, and frowned as it overtook the other.

"Fascinating, I did not know that dream sand could do that." North remarked.

"Sanderson's cannot. Originally, when I tried dream sand, nightmare sand overtook the dream sand. I've modified Sanderson's sand to make it capable of reclaiming Nightmare sand. However I only have a small amount of it, so you'll have to use it sparingly." Pitch said, he poured the sand back into the pouch and returned it to his clothing. He released the nightmare of his control slowly.

"There is only one more weakness I've been able to find. It should be obvious, but nightmares without fear are weaker, however they are more vicious as a result."

The nightmare lunged forward suddenly but clotheslined before it could target North.  
North frowned at the feral creature, even as Pitch clamped down on his control over the nightmare.

"However in their wrath they become less focused, easier to fight, easier to cut down."

Pitch sprinkled some of his modified dream sand onto the nightmare as it followed North in its invisible cage. The Nightmare glanced back at Pitch, remorse in its eyes as it became a creature of dream sand. It stayed still for a time, and Pitch freed it of its cage. The creature left almost immediately, and floated off likely to join the rest of Sanderson's dream sand. North followed the sand until it slid into the cracks within the walls.

"Where does it go?"

"It returns to Sanderson and the excess comes to me." Pitch remarked curtly. Already black sand had come to sit within his hands.

"Well, this is certainly promising, of course, we'll have to test this when next we fight the beasts."

Pitch dropped the pouch into North's waiting hands.  
"Use it wisely, until you bring me the sand of more nightmares, that's all you're getting."

North frowned at Pitch, but it was a problem he could not argue with. Pitch made to leave, then paused and turned back to North.  
"One more thing, if there are fearlings when you fight the nightmares, they will make it more difficult for you to fight the nightmares. They will not only distract you, but their presence will bolster the nightmares."

North looked concerned, but muttered a curt "Very well" as Pitch sauntered out.  
While North was pleased, learning the weaknesses of his enemies and all, still as much as he hoped, he felt that something was not quite right with the small pouch of sand in his hand.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016


	13. Break

Mend  
Break

Pitch woke, casting aside the sights of his dream as he did so. He'd not dreamt since he'd tried to kill himself, it was odd that they came to him now. The foreshadowing was not lost on him. The worry, he pushed from his mind and followed the tug which had woken him in the first place. He entered the main room. The sand which scattered around him and the sulphurous scent, he gleaned were from a fight. Still he knew not why he'd been summoned here.

"Well, I came here, what did you seek of me?" The sand twisted in the air, constricting with what little strength it had left, and rasped beside him.

_'A choice will be offered to you, usurped king.'_

"I've a choice? Oh wondrous! I'm so special." Pitch sneered. He watched the movements of the sand, wondering whether to snuff it out or leave.  
_'Do you desire to know of it, or shall I return to my master?_'

"What is she offering?" Cold, he felt old at the thought of his replacement.  
_'The queen deigns that you return.'_

"And the cost?" Pitch nearly whispered.  
_'You would have to become our host again. No more, no less.' _The sands' rasp quieted.

"Pitch!"

The spirit turned to the voice and frowned, his eyes gleamed with calculation.

_'Call upon us when you have come to a decision, usurped king.'_

"What do you want, North?" Pitch growled, annoyance masked his apprehension. North wiped the sand from upon his cheeks.  
"I had come to tell you that your information worked. We hardly suffered any injuries and it took a quarter of the usual time to defeat them!" North nearly shouted, he clapped his hands on Pitch's shoulders.  
"That's wonderful-"  
"However, when I came to tell you all of this, you were gone. I only came here when I heard you speaking. Only to find a dull eyed king transfixed on the air before him." North peered hard at Pitch, and were he a lesser spirit, Pitch would've been cowed.  
"So," North continued, "Who, or what so held your attention?"  
Pitch tilted his head, an angered look crossed his face, "It is for I alone to know," The spirit near hissed. Pitch tried to wrench his arm from North when the guardian tried to stop him.

"You'll excuse me," Pitch began.

"I will not. You've been hiding quite a bit since you got here. I'm not inclined to let you hide more." North pushed.

"Is that so? I seem to remember being a king of darkness and of fear, I answer to no one."

"King, really? You've no subjects, nor land to be held. You may be a king, but a fallen one at that. You're no better than anyone here." North yelled. Pitch's façade chipped a bit. North could not comprehend the shift that had occurred in Pitch's demeanor.

"Fallen king you say. Very well, I will acquiesce to that. However, you seem to forget that I am no Guardian, I do not need to follow your orders, and I don't quite care for you."  
Pitch sank into the void, a soft grin on his face at North's confusion.  
"You can't leave the barriers, we will find you!" North shouted at the inky shadows.

"You will only find me when I want to be found, have fun searching, Guardian." Pitch muttered, projecting his voice to the room.  
The shadows greeted him, clutching at the soreness upon his skin which they too felt.  
"So, tell me more about this deal, nightmare?" Pitch called out.

* * *

Edited 6-26-2016


	14. Apart

Mend  
Apart

"So, tell me more about this deal, nightmare?" Pitch called out.

Sand pressed against the edge of the void, but it could not enter.

"One must be of shadow to enter the void, nightmare, and you are of sand." Pitch yelled against the silence.  
The pressing relented.

"Good now answer me, messenger"

_'It is as I told you, the queen is in need of a host.__' _The nightmare repeated.

"When I was cast into dreams, she assured me that there were far better hosts than I, what happened to them, o' messenger of the usurper?"

_'T-they did not go as planned.__'_

"I told her that, didn't I," Pitch mused. The sand was quiet. "I thought so." Pitch scoffed, the ignorance of this nightmare was stifling.

"Well, little nightmare, tell the usurper that I decline her offer." Pitch huffed as he stood. Shadows laved across him, a perpetually loyal and fearless subject.

_'I cannot let you do that, you must come with me.__' _The Nightmare ground out.

"And how do you intend to do that? I am in my domain, you have no any power to enter."

_'Then I shall wait for you to leave and take you then.__'_

"You lack power over me, and not even brute force will give you the ability to bring me to her. I am stronger than you and your queen."

_'I__'ll ignore your bluff, perhaps you are stronger than I, even in your__…broken state. But you are hardly a match to the queen. Your powers are weakened here amongst this positivity. How have you fed yourself?__'_

"A predator is patient, little nightmare. Even whilst wasting away." Pitch responded, a glazed look covering his eyes.

_'Needless, if you returned, there would be endless fear for your belly-__'_

"I will not return. I would not be king of my own mind. This hunger is better than the fetters of being a host."

_'You will regret this, usurped king.__'_

"No, my only regret comes from ever deciding to create you. I have no fear of you, for you are me, always. No matter how you have usurped me, I am still your king, and your creator. I too shall be your destroyer."

_'Fanciful words from a man who dreamt for 10 years, did you not see your demise?__'_

"Not only did I see it, but I tasted of it and was overjoyed by it." Pitch chuckled, the shadows tightened.

_'Let me guess, you long for death?__' the sand hissed._

"No, I was overjoyed because I did not die, and my end was no end, but rather the beginning of something new and different."

_'Your dreams have made you soft in the head. Enough.__'_

"Not quite, I've simply learned a bit from such dreams."

Pitch paused, an idea wormed its way into his mind.  
"Come, I shall allow you into my domain."  
A pool of blackness spread before the Sand. Shadows lapped at it, obeying its masters' call.

_'Why?__'_ The sand called.

"Come," Pitch beckoned. He manipulated his power over the nightmare smoothly and lured the dissipated creature with his voice. The sand entered the void, it's physical presence left as it slipped into the darkness.

_'You said your master told you to come to me?__'_ Pitch mused, he peered at the sand's form from within his shadows.  
_'Bow__' _Pitch said to the nightmare. It refused, but when the pressure of the shadows buckled its knees, the shadowed nightmare sank.

_'You made a mistake in obeying her.__'_ He tugged at the energy within the sand. His mouth watered, the fear it'd collected was far better than what he'd been able to get these past months.

_'Not only did you choose to follow the wrong leader, but you came to me, and I am quite so hungry.__'_

_'You__'d not devour me. She will have control of you if you do. You will lose.__'_

_'That would only happen if I partook of the sand. As I said, one must be of shadow to enter the void, and your body rests outside, you are only shadow and fear now.__'_ Pitch purred, and the being in darkness cowered under his gaze. Fear washed over him and Pitch doubted his resolve. That which he'd hungered for lay just before him, a feast. He breathed shallowly, a feast indeed. Tendrils of shadow lapped at the Nightmare. The Nightmare reared, but the dark latched onto it and tore it back down. Darkness slid into it. The Nightmare keened loudly as it was forced to join the shadows. The pressure consumed it. Pitch sighed delightedly as its fear washed over him.

_Not enough, his body told him_.

The Nightmares' strength flooded him and its piteous squeals delighted the shadows. Bit by bit the energy within the Nightmare was snapped up by the shadows around it. The darkness' coiled chaos stopped.  
This time, there was no mess to be cleaned. For nothing save the heady scent of fear lingered.  
_'Ignore it,__'_ Pitch muttered at the painful stab of hunger.  
_'There will be more,__'_ and the shadows ceased rolling in agitation.

* * *

Edited 6-27-2016  
Ever notice you're missing a letter to complete a word...yeah, I noticed a lot.


	15. Coiled

Mend  
Coiled

The void took shape of his desires. Its infinite darkness but a construct of his will. Now, he dreamed of the imperious spires of his onyx lair, whose harsh winds and impenetrable shadows lured many to torment. Somberly he languished over the disrepair that his castle had fallen to. But it was secondary to the excitement coursing his frame. For a plot danced upon his mind; a grandiose thing which bid such excitement from him. He prowled the edges of his golden cage, a scowl fixed upon his face.  
_'It would not be clean, the way by which I will eliminate them… '_ Pitch thought, calculation in his darkening eyes.

Darkness lurked about him, stalking behind like some great predator. Pitch pondered how to sustain his power without such a grand force… He could simply expunge the nightmares all together. Refine the sand and begin again…

The shadows warped experimentally as Pitch thought on what beasts should next strike fear in the world.

The barrier shuddered as it was want to do these days. Then a knock, warped by the void, sounded in his ears. He was apprehensive about leaving the void, as his anger with North had hardly abated. It burned low in his chest as he wondered on the identity of his guest. Much to his chagrin, North entered the room after a few seconds, carrying what looked to be a steak dinner. Pitch took a moment to glance at the window; it looked to be night now. He must have missed supper in his distraction. North did not appear to be angry, in fact if the look on his face were anything to go by, he looked disheartened. A pleasant feeling curled in Pitch's belly.

Feeling particularly vengeful, Pitch called through the void, "Were you hoping to lure me out with the promise of food, North?"  
The spirit lurched at the echoic call that resounded in the room. North looked around distrustfully.  
"No Pitch, but I did think you would like dinner. I have brought you something special."  
In confusion, Pitch cocked his head. What could be special about a platter of steak? His curiosity got the better of him, and the fear spirit parted from the shadows with a light hum, and an imperious gaze. North, for his part hardly looked fazed by the approach of the demanding spirit. North gave Pitch an uneasy stare at the gaze which he found settled on the plate in his hand.  
"Before I give this to you, I just wanted to apologize, I shouldn't have insulted you so. I'd wanted to do so beforehand, but as you know it's been three days since you disappeared and we could scarcely find even shadows."

Pitch was taken aback, a Guardian had never once apologized. But he took it in stride, and frowned lightly at North.  
"Sit," Pitch said as he took the plate from North's hands and seated himself within his own chair.

"I am pleased you have acknowledged the error of your words, but you are right, at least in part. I have kept many things from you Guardians, and will continue to do so. But you in turn have held very many things from me," The Nightmare King leveled a cold stare at North before continuing, "If you were in my position, I think you'd understand why I am unwilling to give you all that I know."

"Aye," North responded gruffly "Yet we have not treated you wrongly, we've provided you shelter and food. The only caveat being that you help us."

"You seem to think that I wanted to be here," Pitch responded sharply,"And what is it that I am helping with? I've been given only sparse information of the world beyond these walls."  
North's face darkened, "You were on the brink of death, were we supposed to leave you to such a fate?"

"I would not have complained."  
North frowned, but said nothing for a while as they sat in a terse silence.

"Even if you think we are enemies, I could not stand to allow such a thing."  
Pitch did not respond, his eyes were an impenetrable slate. North continued in lieu of a response, "We have sought out your help- because we made a mistake in convincing the nightmares to disobey you. We'd expected them to dissipate without your control, or simply go into hiding, but-"

"Obviously they did not, there was always a plan should they no longer be able to hunt on the surface." Pitch informed him casually, he fought the urge to wince, "The plan merely changed when I was usurped. I take it that the new Queen has caused problems?"

North nodded gravely, "For the first year, people had no fear, I assume they were in hiding. The people had no restraint, and many ended up getting hurt or killed in their recklessness. Later the nightmares re-emerged, and have been causing mass terror since.

"I imagine that in the jarring switch from no fear to fear, the nightmares grew stronger, and have been since," Pitch theorized. North took in the lost look with concern but said nothing. He wondered now what exactly had gone on after the Nightmare King's defeat.

"Because I am no longer creating nightmare sand, the nightmares should not have increased in numbers." Pitch rumbled. He glanced at the forgotten meal and took a forkful. A delighted smile crossed his lips and he took a moment to thank North.

"But I imagine that even if you defeat all of them, you'd still need someone to maintain the balance of fear, would you not?" Pitch gave North a solemn look, though the meaning eluded North.

"Aye, we would."

"I suppose I am more inclined to help you then. However, we'll need to be making some changes to this current arrangement," Pitch pressed, his hands sat folded expectantly.

"Within reason…"

"Within reason, of course," hummed the Sharp-toothed King. Aye, a plot danced upon his mind; a grandiose thing which bid eager vengeance from him.

* * *

Hello, everyone...I got really burnt out with this story last year, and then there were school related issues. But, I have returned. and I have the next nine chapters prepared already. Likewise, I'll be making some minor edits to the previous chapters and to Devour as well.


	16. Spoilt

Mend  
Spoilt

"I require a darker room," Pitch rumbled.

"Really? That's your first demand? Not better clothing?" Jack added sarcastically.

"At least you've not forgotten my pride… While I cannot reclaim my throne in this-" Pitch gestured at his too large shirt, "For its minimal defense, and unseemliness- but no, clothing is not my first choice."

"Alright, that can be done"

"Next, I'd ask for one of two things, live meals, or to leave the bounds of Sanderson's spell.  
Pitch was met with silence.

"Explain?" Muttered Tooth.

"I require fear, and while it lingers on the flesh of the dead, it is best from the living. In response to your other inquiry, if I could move freely I could hunt Nightmares, and feed off their stored fear, rather than resorting to food."

"Give us time to consider this, Pitch, you know it is not the easiest thing to allow."

"I do not understand what makes it so difficult. It is one of the two, lest I continue wasting away, or break the barriers and do as I please anyways."  
A hard glare settled on Aster's face, "And what, we're supposed to just let you torture things here, or worse, let you out with no guarantee that you'll even come back and help?"

"I have already promised my help, and I was informed this was not a prison. Should I not be allowed to go and come as I please?"

"Very well… But give us a few hours, the magic is in the walls."

"Alright, so end my demands," Pitch muttered, and imperious smile beginning to settle upon his face. Sanderson straightened up, and left the room.  
"You understand that we have demands of you as well?" North, countered.  
"Indeed, shall we begin them?"

The guardians shared a look, before Jack spoke up lowly, "You can't hurt any children."

"Agreed, though I wonder why you did not extend the request to adults as well."

The remaining Guardians ignored the question, "You also cannot directly or indirectly harm us as well."

"Agreed, at least until the nightmares have been dealt with. After that point this entire agreement will be void," Pitch muttered absently.

"That's a little harsh-" Jack responded.  
"Unfortunately that's just how it must be…"

Their negotiations died down, and eventually Jack, Aster and Tooth filed out. North leaned back against his chair, still tense despite his relaxed posture. Sanderson returned, a small frown on his face.  
"The barriers are down." The sandman gesticulated.

Pitch's eyes widened marginally, he'd not expected them to be down so quickly. A jittery excitement shook his frame. Pitch arose from his chair, he briefly looked at North. A small smile on his face, before Pitch stepped into the shadows and dissipated.  
North Let out a sigh, and the tenseness bled out of him.  
"Did I make the right choice, Sandy?"

The spirit of dreams smiled and signed, "Don't worry, he'll return."  
Sanderson had little doubt.

* * *

An: Short chapter, I know. But the next chapter is a bit too long to be merged with this one.  
In anycase, my updates will not be on a set schedule for the next few weeks, as I am busy with my job, and college classes.


	17. Cool

Warnings: Gore. Finally,

* * *

Mend  
Cool

After months of confinement, the rush of information was overwhelming. The shadows had tales to tell, glories to regale their king with. If his joy had been only meagre before, it had surely grown to insurmountable heights. Ever loyal, they trailed his shaky steps. Such unsurety in their king did not worry them, as he had never steered them wrong. And so the humble shadows also guided him, for his eyes had grown accustomed to the light of the overworld; he was near blind in his own kingdom. Unlike his cage, there were no walls with which he could stabilize himself, no lights with which he could align himself. Regardless, the void which he found upon being free of the barriers felt like home, yet he would not linger within it for long, he wanted to see what had become of his name, his palace, and most of all what had become of the Nightmares. So when the last of the shadows' information was told, Pitch made it known that he intended to return to the surface by opening a portal and stepping through.

Cool fall winds brushed Pitch's skin nostalgically. Of course he had brought himself to Jack's pond. Pitch thought with a scornful sigh. But there was something off about the darkened fog that lingered over the frozen water; eerie and threatening it bid Pitch to step within. It reeked of fear, strange given that he was in Jack's domain.

_'Tis a trap, my King_', a shadow whispered in his mind. It roiled beside him, strangely taking the form of a seven eyed beast.  
_'Many a wanderer hath tread there, none have returned. Among the humans, this pond has come to be known as __"Devil tread__" pond._' It continued, eyes focused on the dark fog, _'I do not doubt thy abilities, but you lack a sufficient weapon, and proper armour.__'_ It mentioned, bowing its head respectfully.

Pitch had heard only a modicum of the shadows' words, as the scent of fear had stolen his attention. He had been peckish for quite some time now and it had only heightened to a wolfish hunger. How unsatisfactory human food is, he thought. The rapturous scent of fear served only to remind him of how long since he's last tasted fed upon the insecurities and weaknesses of anther.  
'Perhaps we should stop at one of the secondary hideouts?' The nightmare requested pleadingly as it caught sight of the predatory look within his master's eyes.

"And if I bid that we clear the area, shadow? What wisdom would you offer me on our enemy?" Pitch at last responded, voice hoarse with want. The nightmare tensed, _'That the area is the result of a rogue pack of nightmares. Tis set up to at first gain fear from the victims it lures in, and then gain fear from the residual locals that come to fear the area.'_

"How likely is it to be patrolled, as it seems to already be on the second part of its use?"

_'Unlikely, my king. There have been no reports from the scouts to indicate that there have been Nightmares patrolling. However it is likely that there is one or more within the fog, not including the one that is providing the sand to sustain it.'_ The shadow declared. A scowl settled on Pitch's face. While he had hoped to potentially siphon the fear from the fog itself, as the shadow had alluded he would hardly be able to defend against any unruly Nightmares that would likely appear.

"And if I bid that the stronger shadows remove the threat?" Pitch responded cautiously.

_'I would remind you that as you are weak from malnourishment, your ranks are weak willed from lack of guidance and weak boned from lack of battle, and I'd implore you to return to one of the secondary palaces.'_ The shadow responded. It turned its seven eyes to face Pitch. _'Might I speak freely my king?'_

Pitch nodded.

_'While I do not doubt you could deal with these nightmares, you'd be a fool to risk untrained shadows on a quick meal. Send them hunting for you, let the thrill of the hunt strengthen their resolve and their forms, for there are many more places like this that you can return to eradicate. And as for yourself, take what you taught the Guardians and use it for yourself; create a new weapon, and armor, that you may expunge the usurper queen and thy nightmares,' _It rumbled against his mind.

Pitch thought for a few moments longer, and annoyed frown on his face, and an angry hunger within, but unfortunately he would be patient, "Very well, which of my holdings requires the least repairs?" Pitch intoned, making way to a newly formed portal. Triumphantly, the shadow dissipated into the void.

_'Actually, only thy main palace, where the Guardians found you, remains mostly intact. All else have fallen into disrepair…'_ Pitch frowned at this, he kept forgetting just how long it'd been since his replacement. "The usurper has not taken over the main palace?" Pitch questioned, voice muffled by the void.

_'She thought it unfit for her glory and has since moved to your holding in Italy.'_ The shadow responded it had long ago ceased having eyes as it took on a taller form with six legs. It walked beside Pitch easily, able to keep with his long strides at last. Other shadows lingered on the king before going back to their business, statuesque as they feigned stillness.

"Come on then, we have work to do." Pitch commanded, and the shadows sprung to life. Pitch stepped through the void. The wind dare not sing in the domain of the shadows and it crept quietly amongst the leaves that had polluted Pitch's palace. When was the last time he'd been here whole and hale, Pitch wondered? When had the quartz and onyx begun to crumble? He could not remember, nor discern time from dream and reality. A painful tightness settled in his chest as he began looking over the damage of his lair.

He explored his sunken palace. Though it was familiar, it felt new. The holes in the ceiling and the floors making more of a maze than it had been before, and he pondered at how the harsh sunlight that had broken through warred with his darkness. Shadows had taken up residence in every available pore of the palace, a thousand invisible eyes watching for danger.

Quiet thoughts, tasks and requests emitted by Pitch, spread through the void. Each were quickly claimed as each shadow was ardent to complete whatever task they could get their greedy tendrils on, eager to prove loyalty. _'I desire that this place be restored. Architect.'_ Pitch's thoughts summoned the Shadow in question to his heels, and the darkness bowed. _'Have you the original design?'_ Pitch questioned as he continued assessing the damage. The vaguely humanoid shadow walked it time with Pitch, whilst the six-legged one, having completed his job went off to follow the king's unspoken commands. _'Yes, and I have one that has since been worked on to make improvements.'_ Curiously, Pitch responded "Improvements such as?"

_'Expansions to the commoner areas as our population has grown. A drainage system to prevent further flooding in the lower floors. A new throne room and ballroom, as I am sure that the current ones are...no longer suitable. There are others, but the Designer has them, not I. My apologies'_ The Architect mentioned.  
_'Apologize not. Designer, I would have your advice,'_ Pitch said calmly, anxious to see his palace returned to glory. The eccentric shadow appeared in its favorite form and bowed, its four hands carded together patiently_. 'My king, I have a minor suggestion: following thy victories over the usurper you could change your crest- something of silver, with accents of gold. Ah, and before you ask, the Advisor has already told me that you desire new armor and clothes. The design of the former has already been started. I imagine that you will be wanting your cloak and other garments in the same fashion as...before your fall.'_, The four armed shadow creature responded, it locked eyes with the Architect and some thought was exchanged between them.

"That would be preferable, yes. If you could have the design for the armor done by the next night I would appreciate it." Pitch said, heedless of the conversation between his helpers.

_'You will be done. I will give the orders to the Tailor and I shall bring the design to your office as soon as I am able.'_ The designer purred, excited to at last have work to complete.

"Thank you Designer, you are dismissed," Pitch gestured as at last he finished assessing the palace and came to stand before the crater that was once his main hall. The shadow dispersed from his side.

"As for your improvements Architect. Begin them once the halls have been repaired, so that supplies may easily be diverted towards completing them. Before that, guide the others into making sure that the walls and pathways are restored," Pitch said imperiously. The Shadow nodded and dissipated as well, leaving pitch at last alone with his thoughts. He had a weapon to design, something new- Something destructive. But of course, he would need to make it of modified dream sand. Loathe as he was to further empower Sanderson, it would be a fine way to erase the nightmares. A stray thought passed him and delight coursed through his veins. For he thought of a feast. He would yet be unable to directly harness fear from the nightmares, but the advising shadows' words lurked in his head. A hunt was due. He'd been far too patient.

With these thoughts, he let the shadows guide him. Now within a dark forest, Pitch roamed, hunting for travelers oft lost within. Without the ability to gather fear on the scale he needed, flesh was his last resort. He prowled in this unknown land, eyes focused forward. Coiled, and waiting, a small group of Shadows traveled with Pitch as eyes for him to see through. Excitedly the darkest shadows lashed at the tumultuous, desirous thoughts that Pitch sent them. A camper, lost in the dark roamed far too loudly to escape. She could feel the invisible eyes tracking her movements. Pitch stepped into the clearing, eyes closed as he looked through the shadows. Pitch scented relief, then unease and his eyes dilated. Oh how he'd missed the scent of fresh terror. Pitch missed the strain of a good hunt. Pitch closed in, savouring the moment before the kill while he could. He could not help but take a deep whiff of his meal. Yes, that incessant growl inside of him would cease soon.

At last he set his own eyes upon the prey, and the shadows commanded to a higher task pulled the camper close and covered her lips. Humiliation, warm and silken livened the taste of fear as she struggled vehemently. Reverent, Pitch clutched the prey and how he fought not to simply kill her now, he had better plans…'A predator is patient,' he told himself.

"This time, try to escape- I am not here to save you. Make the game worthwhile," Pitch breathed distractedly, dilated amber eyes observed silently for a time and eventually they sharpened. Pitch pushed the girl away. "Run," he shouted dissipating into the void with a flourish. She stumbled and fell, shame coursing through her head. Shadows tripped her and led and startled, bringing pleasant bouts of fear to Pitch as he looked through them.

His prey became tired and at last, Pitch appeared again to her, the shadows roughly restrained the prey, devouring any sound that she dare release. He wanted savour her slowly, yet as he came to kneel before his fearful writhing prey, such a notion was forgotten amongst delighted purrs and wet chewing. Mockingly he clutched the hand of his prey between his swallowing, the slow throb of pain, fear and disgust a most pleasant side dish. And when at last he came to succulent rib meat, his prey had already passed- but fear yet lingered in the flesh, and he split her ribs hastily, eager. Rapidly he consumed each organ, wanton, pitiless and senseless with want.

The shadows had long since fled their masters' side. Uninhibited, Pitch fed until only a smattering of blood and gore remained. The incriminating piles of bones he too had snapped up. 'Again, he should go hunting again', he thought. For a time, Pitch remained there, feeling full and giddy. The moon shone weakly above him, that rat had likely already informed the Guardians. Pitch cast a baleful glance towards the Man in the moon and returned to the void.

The shadows were livelier, and already their work had begun to be completed, Pitch observed as he noted the repairs to the main hall. Newly formed, gleaming quartz and onyx pillars had risen from the tiled floor. The cracked tiles had been demolished and reformed, and grime had been levied out through the collapsed ceiling. At this rate they'd be done with the repair in about two weeks. He raised the sleeves of his now browning and crusty jacket and began to work in tandem with the shadows. And silently he sent a few shadows to prowl for fear

The Guardians shuddered collectively. Dredged up from the recesses of their mind, their worst fears sprung to life, given form by thick shadows. They did not linger, and fled the light like rats. Aster scowled, reconsidering the decision to give Pitch free reign. Nick fled the room swiftly, likely to take council with Manny.

Nick returned shortly looking much more stressed than he had before he left. "Apparently Pitch has already begun gathering fear, and it would seem that repairs are being done to his lair."

"He's certainly efficient," Tooth commented while Nick smiled grimly, "Unfortunately, while I know we did not try to change him, I had hoped he would be less sadistic…"

"What did he do now?" Aster asked angrily.

"Well he ate a hiker for one…Manny is unsure how many he's- well you know…" North responded, revulsion and worry passed between the Guardians.  
"Is it too late to change the terms of our negotiations?" Tooth remarked, horrified.

"I imagine so, at this point he has no reason to cooperate further than what has already been asked," north sighed dejectedly.

"We could try- and we should send someone to make sure he hasn't simply broken the negotiation," Sanderston gestured. The older spirits turned to Jack, who had remained quiet until then.

"Why do I have to go?!" Jack huffed.

"He doesn't hate you for one, and you can actually get him to give you straight answers?" Tooth reasoned. The other guardians gave Jack varying forms of pleading glances. _'The traitors,'_ Jack thought.

"Fine, fine! I'll go check to him."

Thus Jack found himself before the newly replaced grand door of Pitch's palace.

* * *

An: So... Life has been crazy. The last chapter I posted was just before I had summer finals, then I had a week-long vacation and got caught in a hurricane, I got a job, and I ended up starting the next semester of my school _(I know it sounds fake af, believe what you will, but my hurricane photos are amazing)_. All in all I am sorry, but I hope you enjoy this 2-5 times longer chapter. It is likely that the next few chapters will be long like this one.  
Again, Sorry for the delay in chapters, I like this story but sometimes it is just tiresome and boring. But I really want to finish this, as it is coming close to being the longest tale I've written. and when I'm done I can focus on other hobbies or simply make other stories.


	18. Start Over

Mend  
Start over

Once more, Jack found himself before the sunken palace. Yet this time, he found that the air was lively and the shadows were heavy with sentience. Surprisingly Jack was not met with hostility, and trekked the lofty halls with impunity. No longer were there large gashes in the walls, or a sunken ceiling. The ceiling had been lifted, and repaired. The holes that had ruined the pathways had been patched and the tiles replaced. Jack was awed.

Of course, he attempted to make as few sounds as possible for fear of angering the lord of the palace. As much as he'd hated being the one to play mediator, the others had a point; Pitch certainly hated him less. The reasons for such still made him uncomfortable.

He hadn't really thought out how he would even get Pitch to listen to him, much less actually do what was asked of him. And frankly he didn't know how he'd ever made it to the entrance hoping the fear spirit would be amenable. He still held out a thread of hope, despite his reservations. However, the entire point of this trip would be ruined if he couldn't find the elusive King. As it stood, Jack had wandered the obsidian palace for hours, unable to find the door which led to the innermost sanctum, and likely to Pitch. Sure, he could have called for Pitch. But of course, he would only have gotten a response if the spirit deigned to give him one and he'd be in the same place he was now. He could swear the shadows were laughing at him; he glared at yet another dead-end and yelled to the chuckling darkness.

"At least you act just like him! Could you stop playing games and just let me do my job?"

Even though no one entered the room, Jack felt the presence of thousands of eyes watching him. Behind him, the wall crumpled noisily. Ill at ease, Jack backed through the opening, "Thank you…"He spoke to no one in particular. The wall rose behind him, and he felt that perhaps he should have left hours ago.

The halls beyond the wall were equally dark, but were in various states of disrepair. Strategic, how Pitch repaired the entrance and any outer portions, before doing the innermost parts. From here, the way was intuitive (well, as intuitive as Pitch's designs could be), and Jack could more easily seek the King through the sparse rooms.

So it was that Jack found Pitch, slouched against his throne, his eyes clear and vapid. His mouth twitched every so often, as if speaking. He paid Jack no mind when the frost spirit spoke to him, and hardly moved when Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. However it wasn't long before Pitch tensed, and awareness bled back into his eyes,  
"Jack," Pitch remarked sharply, hands clasping the arms of his throne tightly. For once, Pitch looked disheveled, Jack noted. "I was in the middle of overseeing the shadows, forgive me." Pitch apologized as his body relaxed. Jack was taken aback, and it must have shown; for a sneer quickly formed at Jack's slip-up.  
"Sorry, It's just you never apologize," Jack responded sheepishly. Pitch's sneer settled into a thin frown.

"Contrary to what you may think, I have been trying to make this agreement as minimally painful as possible. If it means that I have to be amenable with you, or whomever else that comes stomping through my home, then it is in my best interest." Pitch countered. Well, at least there weren't any threat speeches, we're headed in the right direction, Jack thought.  
"But- you distract me, what has brought you to my-" Pitch looked at a slab of crumbling quartz sadly "-humble abode…" He carded his fingers, looking all the more like a puffed up king.

"I-i was supposed to be making sure you haven't simply forsaken the alliance." Jack asked. He became aware of just how tired Pitch looked.  
"I should not have been surprised that this would be your purpose; this has to do with me gathering fear does it not?" Pitch muttered  
"To be fair, you did eat someone…That doesn't really inspire confidence in an ally-" Jack responded, looking grim. A cold look crossed Pitch's face, "Your mistrust stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of how it is that I survive, and you prove yet again how deep that misunderstanding lies. But I am loathe to correct it. "

"You're loathe to correct it, seems awfully lazy to me." Jack countered, his irritation peaking.

"Yes, because it is 'wise' to explain to a temporary ally how you work; an ally who cannot read between the lines." Pitch snarled.

"Well we certainly wouldn't keep having this predicament if you would just suck it up and stop being cryptic." Jack muttered.

"Let us speak hypothetically then, since you so desire a justification for my every action. You Guardians dwell on "belief", a cacophony of positive emotions ranging from hope to anticipation. And this makes sense, for are you not all spirits of positivity? So, let us say that hypothetically there is a spirit of what is seemingly negative, what then would you think they dwell on, hmm? " Pitch's voice was low, condescending. As if he'd been teaching a child how to hold a spoon who repeatedly and gloriously failed in doing so.

"Oh-" Jack started.

"But I suppose that would not quite explain why I so enjoy eating the hapless and weak. Belief is practically given to you. But fear has to be driven out, like a fox from its den. If you've not gathered, evoking fear is as hunting prey. And millennia of hunting will either bore you of it, or ignite a barely tamed fire. You can guess which occurred in my case." Pitch growled, voice reaching a fevered tone.

"I'm sorry I didn't get it." Jack responded, almost wishing he could sink into the walls and disappear, if only to avoid the disappointed look in Pitch's eyes.

Pitch said nothing as he settled more comfortably within his throne.

"So…does it work for us?" Jack asked curiously.

"Not if you like being a guardian, and not mentally ruined as you're stripped of your rank and re-categorized as a fear spirit. This of course only applies to eating human, and likely all meat in general. You might get lucky if you try a banana or something. But I cannot say."

Pitch inclined his head, a thoughtful look had overcome his features. "Just so you are aware, I will be returning to North's workshop once the repairs to my lair are complete- or within the next few days if you desire a more concrete time-frame. I have a few ideas for dealing with the nightmares- and some insight that may help Sanderson."

"You've been hard at work." Jack commented distractedly, darting shadows kept stealing his attention- He presumed that they were hard at work repairing the inner walls and reinforcing old wards.

"Indeed- and you've not seen the half of it. In fact…I have more to show, if you're willing to see." Pitch intoned- his eyes vibrant and focused in a way that unsettled Jack. But he nodded, Jack was curious. At Jack's nod, Pitch smiled and stood in a flourish. Pitch led him back through winding halls to a rather undescriptive door. He held it open, revealing a mass of darkness and walked through. Jack took a while to wonder at what he would encounter before following behind Pitch.

However he was not expecting to find half a dozen Nightmares watching him keenly. He did not see Pitch immediately and readied for attack, but when the Nightmares did not move, he lowered his guard.

"They are in a sort of stasis," Pitch began, Jack did not need to turn to know that the Fear spirit was behind him. "The first one, I corrupted with a small amount of modified dream sand. The second and third were captured, destroyed and then reconstructed. The fourth, I lobotomized, and used a portion of my shadows to take the place of its mind. The fifth and sixth are shadows that I gave Nightmare sand to and allowed them to take whatever form they desired." He delivered this all with a clinical detachment, but Jack found himself slightly sickened.

"The Nightmares have brains?" Jack asked, cautiously, He'd assumed that they were like puppets- controlled by a master and thoughtless on their own.

"Oh indeed, they are also very intelligent- Likely more so than anything that Sanderson has ever constructed." Pitch responded, he had moved forward at this point, and seemed to be categorizing all the minute details about his subjects. "And you're replacing them with shadows?" Jack muttered.

"While they are independently sentient, the presence of their leader will essentially override their freewill when given an order. Also as long as there is a leader they cannot break such a control. But, shadows are my subjects and we are codependent. Thus more agreeable-"

"Why are you doing this, Pitch?" Jack questioned. Pitch inclined an eyebrow.

"I am trying to find the best way to deal with them that will not require a massive battle. They are, at the end of the day, constructs of sand and shadow. There are many ways to reassign them, but few ways to destroy them."

Jack frowned, "They were easy to destroy when we fought them-"

"Actually, any Nightmares you, Aster, North and Tooth destroyed were only disassembled and sent back to me for reprocessing. The Nightmares, while mostly finished before my usurping, were still being improved." Pitch countered, "But given that they were derived from Sanderson's dream sand, it was difficult to prevent those that encountered him from being destroyed."

The new Insight worried Jack, and he found himself watching Pitch with a new level of understanding.  
"How did you get the sand?" Jack questioned further, he did not take his eyes off the two Nightmares at the end, which had begun to move as Pitch neared. Mirth coloured Pitch's smile, "Sanderson does not keep a good eye on the shadows of his vault."

Jack chuckled, imagining Pitch simply appearing wherever he pleased.  
"But I've forgotten, I didn't bring you here only to show you these six. No, it's number seven and eight that are the best of my tests, come- they're further in."

Jack followed Pitch, vaguely aware that they had entered a hallway. The seventh and eighth Nightmares watched, but payed them little mind as the others before them had.

"You'll notice that these Nightmares are in the same state- The difference is that these came to be this way much more simply than their predecessors." Pitch intoned, "Seven had its connection to the void removed. I did the same with Eight just to see if it could be repeated. This is important, as I had previously assumed that Nightmares communicated through telepathy. But actually, they do so through my void."

Understanding dawned on Jack, "So if you can close them off from the void, they become like this?"  
Pitch nodded, looking a bit triumphant, "There are a few thing I'd need to test, but that's the hope."

Pitch began the task guiding Jack back, distracted though he was by plans and theories. By the time they had made it to the outside, Jack was almost giddy- he had good news for his friends and a promise of Pitch's return.

* * *

**AN: **Sorry, I am not dead! Just busy with life and I've been putting off this chapter inexplicably.


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